


Give me wings

by Wildphoenix_ofthe80s



Series: What if this Storm Ends? [4]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abortion, An angel is about to re-evaluate his life, And so am I i mean i wrote it, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aziraphale falling, Baby Killing, Body Horror, Crowley is So Done (Good Omens), Crowley is an absolute love for his angel, Demon Baby, Eldritch Abomination baby, Fuck me pregnancy is scary, Fucking horrible nightmares, Gabriel is a dick, He never got to see it, I mean seriously Crowley is a mess, If I had a reverse AU Aziraphale would be a Badger, Infants can do horrible things to your first edition signed Wildes, Labour, Let me know if I missed any!!, M/M, Male presenting pregnancy, Night Terrors, Nightmares, PTSD, Pregnancy, Sleep is the enemy, Their last words were an argument, War, break ups, crowley is a loving partner, demon familiar - Freeform, discorporating your host, emergency unskilled c-section, falling, falling while already in agony, happy halloween mofos, i mean they're Agender so i'm just going to use both tags here, labour can be fatal, poisoning your host, taking over the host pregnancy, warping an angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 08:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21241211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildphoenix_ofthe80s/pseuds/Wildphoenix_ofthe80s
Summary: Alternative title : 5 Horrible nightmares Crowley had while Aziraphale was pregnant, and 1 horrible nightmare Aziraphale had.Cheers to MaxKowarth for beta'ing.





	Give me wings

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in a bad place lately, and angst and sometimes body horror comes really easily to me. Happy horrifying all hallows?  
This is all set in the same universe as Something Entirely New and it's sequels.  
Erm, enjoy..?
> 
> (I'm a nightmare, aren't I?)
> 
> (Proper sequel coming soon!)

Crowley loved sleep. It was an excellent way for his mind to work painful things through while he was completely ignorant of them. He'd considered a good sleep a few times in the past centuries, such as when he'd argued with Aziraphale.  
But the angel, oh his angel. Since his angel had been attacked by Gabriel and he'd had to do the unthinkable to get him back, his anxiety had been on high alert. Extra high. On the moon? Alpha Centauri? Maybe further, alert. He was doing an excellent job of maintaining his cool, knowing it was Aziraphale himself who really stood to lose out should Gabriel return.  
But it was taking it's toll, and he had the feeling that until heaven was dealt with, until the baby was here and he was sure of what it was, that he wouldn't sleep easily.  
Because his anxieties were swallowing him whole, refusing to listen to reason.

Crowley dreamed. He dreamed he woke when Aziraphale moaned in pain. Crowley's thoughts were maybe labour was starting, as he caressed the angel's middle. But his angel cried out again far too soon, grasping at his hands and screaming at him for touching, his face contorted in agony. He fell back, shaking as the angel screamed again, bucked his back in pain, nails tearing through the bedsheet and into the flesh of his palms. He saw tendrils of darkness reaching up through the veins in his pale skin, branching from his middle. He grabbed at the angel's hands, squeezing reassuringly while checking sideways as the darkness bled up his throat, and seeing those fingers reaching into his angelic form. They were haunting, long, both misty and oily, flicking out to stop his wheels one by one. It shattered them open and scattered divine blood, before reaching to grip Aziraphale's wrists and close his many eyes one at a time until they snuffed out his light with a snap of the neck.  
He dreamed of holding, shaking the corporeal form, screaming as it dissolved into the demonic energy that reared above him and reached out for teaching..._ 'I'm here, father, I'm here, acknowledge me!'_

This was the one he had most frequently in the early days, before the blessing, before he knew that what resided there wasn't a demon bent on destroying it's parents happiness. He tried not to sleep too much after that. But even after this wonderful revelation, his brain would not let him rest. Sometimes it twisted this idea to renew it, bringing up things he was sure he'd probably picked up from late night horror stories. On those nights, those tendrils of demonic energy would loop up through Aziraphale's form, going deep, wrapping up the Ethereal creature within and strangling it, choking it's light and warping it into something else. Those dark, now bruising marks at the angels veins worked upwards until the spawn took possession of not only the angelic form but Aziraphale's corporeal brain, and with shuddering and screaming, those blue eyes opened finally, sweat pouring from the angel.  
But there was darkness tinting the moisture around his eyes, a skein of greying drool from convulsions wiped away by a delicate swipe as the spawn took the last of Aziraphale's soul for itself. In that dream there was no life weaving for the earthly angel, just transmogrification born of the taint of Crowley's very being. Like falling, but in a far more visceral sense, and losing him every part of his beloved, bar the Aziraphale shaped figure who grinned at him, "Hi dad."  
He woke crying, shaking, frightened, and with his eyes entirely on his partners gently curved middle, half wanting to just tear it away himself like Caligula. But like Caligula, he remembered, it would be insanity. Aziraphale feels the love and purity of the creature. It's so strong even he can feel it. It's not demonic. It's not angelic. It just is. He wrapped his arms around his knees, rested his head on them, and let his frightened tears fall.

Of course, there had been the dream he had very early on, not long after they had joined. In this dream, Aziraphale would be pouring tea for them both when he rushed away, hand to his mouth. Crowley followed to find him suffering 'morning sickness', and as he rubbed at his partner's back and soothed, the angel whined, holding his middle in pain. The demon hefted him to bed, but Aziraphale continued to weaken, his symptoms gradually giving way to worse and worse. He lay, pale and comatose in bed, leading to Crowley believing in dream that the angel was being poisoned by the existence of his halfling, a demon draining his angelic heart and sapping his strength as though a weakened hellfire burned within him.  
Sometimes this dream pushed his dream self to do the unthinkable, exerting forces beholden to a star maker onto the tiny corporeal form until it's heart stopped and Aziraphale started awake in blind fury, hurt and betrayed and unforgiving. This one haunted Crowley more in the future, when a particular pregnancy's sickness leant itself to the return of that nightmare, and he let nobody in on how terrified it made him. He paid attention to his angel's every pain, and read about symptoms and risks and the mother's health and well being, until his snake eyes were so tired they crossed and wouldn't un-cross until he rested them.  
He had to take care of Aziraphale - Had to take care of his world.

He was so happy to feel it move. To recognise the vibration waves of the liquid around it. But he'd still had no sense of it's Grace or form, and that continued to bother him as time went on.

Crowley dreamed of a sharp pain at his temple. He moaned as the spoon bounced off him and hit the table. The child, a ball of light and arms and scales and wings and eyes screamed at him, rattling the windows with the pitch. It grabbed at plates, books, plants, anything it could reach with its multiple grubby hands. It bit him, it bit Aziraphale, it took a chunk out of the book the angel was trying to read to it at the breakfast table, and it sneered as it blinked his own Serpentine eyes at them.  
Aziraphale's hands trembled, "No, dear, I..."  
Crowley tried to look away from the angel's heartbroken expression, but he was brought back to reality by him standing up purposefully.  
"It just has hell written all over it." The angel was saying, and Crowley's blood ran cold.  
"It's a demon, Crowley. I'm... I'm so sorry... but maybe you should take it home to hell, where it belongs."  
"But-ngk-Angel I-"  
"I don't think I can see those eyes again, Crowley." The angel was in tears, but that changed nothing. He was walking away. Leaving Crowley with the baby demon chewing up the table and winding what might have been fingers or might have been sucker tipped tentacles in his hair, the remains of a first edition, signed Oscar Wilde novel lying in tatters on the tablecloth.  
"Angel!' He cried, "Angel please, Angel, I'm sorry, I just wanted to save -you- from -them- I only ever... thought of you."  
The door shut.  
Crowley woke sobbing, his heart torn apart supernova style, nuzzling at his angel tenderly, "A-Angel-Aziraphale-Angel -I. Please don't. Please don't abandon me."  
Aziraphale blinked sleepily up at him, "Dear? Why would I ever-?"  
"If it's a demon, if it chews your books and bites and-" Crowley buried his head.  
"Crowley." Aziraphale was very concerned, to say the least, "Crowley it's okay, it-we're in this together, remember? You have more reason to leave than I, my dear."  
"Promise me, Aziraphale. That you won't leave us."  
"Dear." Aziraphale replied, taking his hands and kissing the knuckles, "I will never leave you, or them."  
"Even if we spawn a Lovecraftian nightmare?"  
"Even if we have to move even deeper into the country, avoid all human contact and cut extra arm holes in it's clothes."

As the months wore on, the nature of Crowley's dreams shifted. The baby's Grace was known. It was loving. It was happy. It was bloody curious! So maybe, his brain thought, maybe the baby wasn't the thing to worry about here. Maybe, instead...

One night he started dreaming that it was all his fault. That their child was an unknown, a blank canvas, just a happy little light ball, until it was jerked into the real by the onset of labour.  
Aziraphale was in agony; He was pushing, and of course Crowley was trying his best to help, timing and reassuring, mopping the sweat from his partner's brow. This was it - they were going to do this - he was so proud of his partner for making it through and-  
But then there were the two familiar figures at the bottom of the bed. Watching, disgusted or indifferent as always. Gabriel was chuckling because the agony was his damn fault, and how amused he was to see Aziraphale's face twist with every contraction, every fresh drop of angelic blood, every drop of sweat and every scream and sob.  
The archangel raised his hand.  
With a click, the Principality's body tensed differently. Now it was suddenly a hundred times worse and Crowley was being pushed back by the heat of his mates wings burning. They were becoming ashen as he shrieked in agony, flapping them, scorching their ceiling and swamping the room in heat as his halo rang out like a bell and shattered, cutting his scalp and face and spilling his gold tinted blood as it altered to splash black on the bedsheets. It ran from his hair like ink down across his eyes, stained his platinum curls in stripes. Crowley tried to hold his mate close but in feral, falling agony Aziraphale swiped at him with new tough claws, thick and chunky, made for digging. Crowley shuddered as he realised what this hell demon familiar would be, surely not a threat to his own huge snake form but to snakes of the UK in general, and currently maligned by some groups as a disease spreading mammal. Aziraphale opened his now dark eyes wide, animal rage and blame falling squarely on the shoulders of Crowley. He gripped him with those claws, and bit into his shoulder with new canines as sharp and powerful as his own. He found himself changing, curling around his mate as he thrashed and snarled and tried to bite him.  
"Aziraphale..." He murmured, "Please, just stay calm a little! Think of the ba-"  
The claws grabbed his neck and he awoke with a strangled scream.

The last dream to emerge was the one that stayed with him far into the future, after the hell of the first labour.

It was late. It was far too late and Aziraphale was in trouble. He was bleeding so much, struggling, and Crowley was trying to help but getting nowhere fast. There's no energy left. No time. They had tried everything.  
Crowley pressed at the angel's middle hard, trying to turn the baby, to do anything, but there was just more blood pooling on the sheets. Part of him just wanted it to die, so he could miracle it out and away without the risk of killing it. But Aziraphale just wouldn't accept Infanticide unless the child decided it. And it was definitely still alive. Still fighting. Probably more so than the angel was now, his face pale grey and speech slurring as he tried to call out to Crowley. The demon curled up close to hear him.  
"Save it."  
"Not without you."  
"Crowley- we're not - not who we were... Might never - have another body again. We'll be punished. Destroyed. I can't- I can't- but they still have a - chance."  
"I didn't want them without you. They're only here because I wanted to save you!"  
Aziraphale's eyes filled with desperate, enlightened tears, "I thought you - weren't the demon heaven told me you were. That you - cared..."  
His hand was cool on Crowley's cheek, and the serpent felt his own tears fall, "I can't. I'll hate them for-"  
"I'll always love them."  
Crowley snarled in anguish, "Take them with you then you bastard! You weren't meant to-not like this! You won't let me save you, I can't go on without you-"  
"If you don't save them... I'll never forgive you..."  
"You're an angel-"  
"I'm a loving parent."  
His breath shortened. His body was no longer racked by pain - His muscles no longer had the strength to try to push. Crowley shook as he grabbed a miracled knife from the side. Aziraphale's eyes landed on it, and he smiled weakly. Crowley turned away from his face and jammed it, unthinking in this moment, into the upper part of his husbands middle, into the space the child left when it engaged some days prior. He knew humans would have gone lower, but this was the quicker way for him to ensure he didn't harm the baby his partner cared for more than himself. He heard Aziraphale's gasp, felt the slight shift as he twisted at the pain, forced himself to ignore it and cut deeper. There wasn't enough blood left to make more mess; His angel was alive by will alone at this point. He cut until he found the cavity, and a tiny, flailing arm. He pulled it sharply.  
There was a scream; it's first cry. But it doesn't move. It was wedged, somehow, somewhere. Its head and chest were free though, and it was fighting.  
He battled for what seemed like an eternity, finding it's legs and knees and wings all squashed up together, entirely misaligned to actually arrive. A knee and a wing were somehow wedged in it's exit. A glance to his partner's face told Crowley that he was beyond caring, and he brought a pair of fingers and the knife sharply upwards, tearing through the connective tissue of his mate's pelvis. And then the baby is free. Free, screaming, crying. He wanted to throttle the little bastard, but first he had to...  
"Angel, Angel, look, it's alive..." He lay it up close on his chest, but there's nothing. He nudged into the place where Aziraphale's true form should have been. There was nothing. He'd already gone.  
Shock set in quickly. Crowley finally fell to his knees, grasping Aziraphale's cold hand to his face, knowing he had little time before the physical form returned to where it came from. He kissed it and held it close, ignoring the infant until long after the form of his partner and best friend had gone.

This was the nightmare that usually woke Aziraphale with Crowley's struggling, screaming and yelling.

Aziraphale twisted uncomfortably. His mind was as full with what might be as his insides were with baby. Unlike Crowley, he had no qualms about the child's intent, no fear God might not protect them; he had faith, and he knew his child - it was light, pure, innocent. Theirs to bring up right, now they knew.  
No, what wrapped around his brain and got his hands wringing was the future. A future born from the deepest recesses of his past.  
He remembered the war and the falling of the damned; He remembered fear and dread and pain. He remembered standing at the head of his squadron, of striding onwards with his flaming sword. Vividly remembered locking eyes with the rebels. Remembered the pain he felt as his sword found itself in a shoulder, a lung, a knee. Remembered his tears blurring his vision as the soldier to his left was felled, gurgling as an arrow pierced his neck.  
He never knew on who's side each one fought, and yet he held the wounded, even those he felled himself, and pleaded with the Lord to save them.  
In his mind now though, he stood with Crowley and a faceless, genderless child, a child who wielded his own sword with ease and grace as they fought for their defence. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle at their elegant form, their graceful and intelligent sword use. He felt the searing heat of the sword as it flickered with surprising speed and strength. And then the immense pain this beautiful heart felt at every strike. A heart purer than his own, tainted with blood from heaven and hell's own pig-headed idiocy.  
His heart ached, and he screamed.  
_Let me! Please don't put them through this! Not my - not my child too! They don't deserve this! Please..._

Aziraphale didn't jerk awake in fear like his partner. He merely opened his eyes with a steely resolve and strength of belief, and turned to take comfort in the demon beside him.  
Even on those nights when Crowley would rend the air with his own terrors.

**Author's Note:**

> Not entirely happy with this but I wanted to get it out for Halloween so there may be a couple of edits now it's up.


End file.
